


Chokehold

by BlueMoonHound



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Dreams and Nightmares, Drowning, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrated, M/M, The Hunger, assimilation?, some cultists also exist in this, tharizdun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 04:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13516674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMoonHound/pseuds/BlueMoonHound
Summary: What does it mean when a god doesn't know? He's nervous, as he sits back in his desk chair and digs through his top lefthand drawer for empty filing sheets, laying them on the desk. The raven queen always knows the answer to these things. The still storm, the lingering, writhing black mass, they both unnerve her, he could tell. He's dealt with Tharzidun before, but the darkness in the ancient gods does not glitter. It is not streaked with bright light. It doesn't seem to glow, even in its darkness.--A simple day at work unearths an unhappy memory.





	Chokehold

He knows as soon has he opens the rift that this bounty is going to be a doozy. The entire room is coated in about two inches of thick black sludge. He hazards a guess that this group is attempting to resurrect Tharizdun, an old evil god that's been buried for centuries. Bounties like that tend to look about like this. They're hard enough as it is. He steps into the room, sludge immediately clinging to his shoes and the edge of his pant legs. Disgusting.

Kravitz clears his throat and the cultists look up in surprise. They're gathered around a pit. Kneeling. Black ooze seeps up from the hole in the floor, fighting gravity and winning. He sighs, digs out his book, and flips open the group's bounties.

“So first off,” Kravitz says, putting on his best terrible accent, “It's illegal to summon any aspect of Tharizdun, which is what you're doing right now, so even if you weren't repeat offenders, you'd be coming with me. But.” He points to each of them in turn. “You tried to resurrect your sister. You are a lich, and you've done _this_ before. Nice getaway, by the way, you only sacrificed the lives of your friends to postpone your goddamn fate.” He snaps the book closed and summons his scythe. “Are we done here.”

One of the cultists stands up and grabs a staff from the wall. He throws a glance at his companions and then swings. Kravitz braces for a melee attack, but it turns into a spell about halfway through, sweeping the goop on the floor into an arc that, for just a moment, encompasses him. He hits the wall, struggles for a moment. He gets his feet against the wall and catapults himself forward, catching the cultist with the edge of his scythe. He kicks the soul into a temporary holding cell and turns back to the others, shaking. He wonders if these chucklefucks had to fight the hunger at any point.

Fortunately, the other two are easy to gather. Not that the first was hard, but whatever he'd thrown at Kravitz had rattled him to his core.

He stands at the edge of the pit for a moment, hair in his face, and stares into the sluggish, writhing darkness. It stinks and writhes and oozes. It makes those deep, unnerving noises that come with dark magic.

It's nothing like the hunger, and yet it's exactly like the hunger. His body feels too still in that moment.

He seals the gate and leaves.

 

He's still feeling unnerved when he comes home to Taako that evening, sealing up the gate behind him and standing silent in the living room. He had a whole list of small bounties today, so it's late, and Taako is undoubtedly upstairs in bed already. He sighs, banishing his scythe, and heads towards their bedroom.

“Hey, Krav,” Taako says, looking up from reading. Or, writing? He has a couple of spellbooks open. “You doin alright?”

Kravitz shrugs, taking off his jacket and throwing it on a chair. He kicks his shoes next to it and breathes deep, as if to remind himself that he can.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“I don't know that there's anything to say,” Kravitz says, taking off his shirt and pants and climbing in next to Taako. He puts his hands on his chest and stares at the ceiling. Taako closes his spellbooks and puts them on the bedside table.

“Wanna sleep?”

“Yes, I think so,” Kravitz decides.

“Okay, babe.” He can feel Taako's body curl around next to his. Kravitz isn't exactly exhausted, but he's tired enough that he can sleep. Maybe he can sleep this weird funk off. Maybe if he sleeps, he won't be worrying about it in the morning. He closes his eyes.

 

Kavitz is- admittedly – a little bothered by the dark cloud in the sky. He asked the raven queen about it yesterday. She didn't seem to know.

What does it mean when a god doesn't know? He's nervous, as he sits back in his desk chair and digs through his top lefthand drawer for empty filing sheets, laying them on the desk. The raven queen always knows the answer to these things. The still storm, the lingering, writhing black mass, they both unnerve her, he could tell. He's dealt with Tharzidun before, but the darkness in the ancient gods does not glitter. It is not streaked with bright light. It doesn't seem to glow, even in its darkness.

Most of all, the Raven Queen knows exactly what Tharzidun is, and how to deal with it.

He stops thinking about it too hard.

He settles down to do paperwork.

He stops thinking about it too hard, that is, till one of the ghosts in the prison screams. He stands up, rushing out of his room, expecting to have to break up a fight, and instead sees bright black sludge sinking into the lake of souls. He hurries out of the building, wading in waist-deep – _stupid stupid stupid Kravitz No it'll get you_ – watches the sky descend.

Bright, shimmering black, color speckled hands reach towards him. He steps back, turns to rush out of the sea-- he's no use to anyone if he gets unmade-- They climb up his body. He fights, struggles, but the grasp is so firm and he sinks, the ocean of opal enveloping him.

He opens his mouth to gasp on reflex and the sludge climbs inside of him, filling in his lungs. It's the most grotesque feeling, tiny fingers working their way down his throat. He chokes, wishing he had never been alive. His corporeal form is stuck on him like a snakeskin he'd like to shed, but can't. He struggles.

There's darkness. Darkness and he can't breathe. Little bits of bright, flashing light blink in his eyes. His eyes are becoming bits of light. He can't breathe and he wants to, endless, endless nothing enveloping his soul. It feels like his soul itself can't breathe – not just his corporeal form, but the thing within him that keeps him in the system, that keeps him functioning. He feels like he's disintegrating, and he fights the feeling. It's overtaking him. He's going to die.

He's going to die again. He fights but it's too hard. He fights, but he can feel it working into his essence, changing him from the inside out. He stutters, struggles, forcing himself to keep trying even as he despairs.

He's tangled in something, lands on something, hard, there's moonlight streaming through the window. Kravitz rushes out of the bedroom, ending up in the kitchen, for some reason, the kitchen, he heaves over the sink. He hasn't eaten anything today, because he and Taako hadn't planned anything fancy so he didn't bother – He feels like he's going to be consumed, still, the air around him is thick and cloying, and the wind against his skin feels like hands, trying to pull him under again. Trying to take him in with them, never let him go. He tries to breathe, and it doesn't quite reach his lungs, stopping in his throat and making his head spin. He tries again, and again, hiccuping on air.

Textures. He can see the window. It has curtains. The curtains sway in the breeze. The curtains don't look like the hunger. He tries again to take a deep breath that he doesn't need. He stutters on it, catching in his throat. He lets his head hang between his shoulders for a moment, swallowing around nothing.

He sinks down the cabinets and onto the floor. The cabinets are grainy like wood. They don't feel like the hunger. _You're not going to be consumed, Kravitz. You're fine_. He tries to take a deep breath again, and it turns into a sob. His head lands between his knees, his hands pressed against the cold linoleum. The world sways gently, and he's – firm, real, here, _please_ –

“Krav?” A groggy voice comes from the direction of the stairs.

He hiccups. He wants to get up, to rush to Taako, but his body feels heavy. He can't move. He's weighted down, made of lead and water.

Taako kneels down in front of him, suddenly. “Can I touch you?”  
Kravitz nods, the movement sluggish. Taako's hands cup his face, warm and reassuring and soft and dry and so utterly unlike the hunger that Kravitz feels his throat loosen, and he gasps with the next sob, his lungs filling with air.

“What exactly happened at work, babe?”

Kravitz takes a moment to breathe, and Taako seems to get that touching him was helping, because he slides next to Kravitz on the floor, pressing up against him and holding him to his chest. Kravitz leans into Taako's thin frame, head thudding against his collarbone, and breathes in the smell of his shirt. It smells like the coconut shampoo Taako got a few weeks ago.

“Nothing,” Kravitz sighs, finally. “Well, things, but,” he slides an arm around Taako's chest. “Not, it wasn't, I don't know.”

“Something happened. You were acting weird last night, and now you've had a nightmare. C'mon, babe, you always listen to me babble about my bullshit. It's your turn.”

He's right – Kravitz does his best to be what Taako needs, because Taako's been through more shit than even the most seasoned war veterans, and still managed to come out the other side. Not that Kravitz wasn't in the war, didn't fight at Taako's side. But he didn't spend a hundred lifetimes trying to stop the Hunger. He spent a week being swallowed, instead, because he's not even smart enough to escape the freaky black mass in the sky.

“It was just,” He sighs. “You know who Tharizdun is?”

“Evil eldritch supergod or whatever? Were they trying to summon it?”

“Yeah. And uh. Tharizdun is a writhing black mass.”

“Oh,” Taako says, sounding a little far away. “Were you dreaming about the hunger?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, babe. He's never coming back. Lucy blew him right the fuck up. He's gone, and you're safe.” He runs a hand through Kravitz's hair. It feels nice.

“Objectively, I know,” Kravitz mumbles. “I just, I get stuck. In the memory. I can't stop dreaming about it.”

“Mhm.”

He's starting to feel foggy, sleepy again, having cried himself out. Taako seems to catch this.

“Wanna go back up?”

“Mhm.” He doesn't move, though, because he feels heavy, and Taako's warm. Taako grumbles something and slides out from under him. Kravitz lands on the linoleum and whines.

“Come on, Bone boy, I'm not carrying you.”

“Ngh.” Kravitz tells the floor. He pushes himself to his feet, though, and follows Taako up to bed. The covers are still rucked all over to one side and onto the floor, but Taako pulls them back onto the bed in one motion.

They climb back into bed, Taako wrapping his skinny body around Kravitz's once more, still warm and reassuring. Kravitz feels fuzzy, like he's been scattered all over the place. His head aches softly and little bits of water cling to his eyelashes. He closes his eyes and rolls his head till his forehead is pressed against Taako's.

This time, he doesn't dream.

**Author's Note:**

> [Image source!](http://bluemoonhound.tumblr.com/post/170205525697/sometimes-i-wonder-what-it-feels-like-to-get)  
>  Thanks for reading! I've had this idea sitting on me for several weeks now. There's not enough stuff about Krav's trauma out there... :(


End file.
